


Living up to the memory

by StormXPadme



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Light Petting, M/M, Midsummer, Rivendell | Imladris, Third Age, non lace compliant, part time boyfriends with more issues than imladris daily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Glorfindel wants Erestor for Midsummer. Erestor wants Glorfindel forever. Those things aren't mutually exclusive.
Relationships: Ecthelion of the Fountain/Glorfindel, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	Living up to the memory

**Author's Note:**

> Created out of a tumblr meme of dialogue writing prompts; prompt: "I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

_Not_ what Glorfindel has expected to hear as an explanation, why Erestor refuses to join Midsummer celebrations for the third time in a row.

Oh … _oh_.

So _that’s_ why Lord Elrond insisted that Glorfindel should try to get his chief advisor out of the library this time. Unexpected … but not wholly unpleasant. Not at all.

He approaches carefully though, the way he’s tried all these last centuries - apparently, a little _too_ cautiously -, because he’s been burned a few times too often, and far more painfully than any flame of a demon could. “You know, you could have just … asked. I wouldn’t have said no.”

“And become another notch in your midsummer toybox? I don’t think so.” Erestor only buries his nose deeper in his book. “Go back, will you? I’m sure they’re lining up already to get a taste of the legendary Balrog slayer.”

Glorfindel can’t remember when it’s last hurt so much to hear someone say his title, especially in this tired, hollow voice. Past victories are no longer of any meaning with a new war on the horizon and his soul feeling emptier by the year.

”Maybe that’s not what I want anymore.”

“What, sex? Next you tell me, the Fall of Gondolin was just an accident.”

“No, that would be the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Can you be serious for five minutes? I’m trying to tell you something here.”

For a lack of options and because Erestor still doesn’t deem it necessary to stand up, Glorfindel sits down on his desk, right before him. “Do you know why I never asked you out for Midsummer?”

The answer is not exactly what he has been hoping for, but it hurts no less. “I remind you too much of Ecthelion. That’s alright,” Erestor adds, when Glorfindel just stares at him with his mouth open, his throat too tight for a moment.  
And for a moment, he _is_ his lover, sunken hazel eyes instead of brilliant blue ones, but filled with the same burden of Ages, pale skin flickering in the dimmed candle light, a book on his lap he’s read a dozen times already because it’s the only escape in new impending doom.

Then he blinks, lips tight, and the illusion fades. “Really, that’s alright. I could never be him. I’m still just a glorified scribe, and you owe me nothing. Especially not pity.”

“ _Pity_.” When Glorfindel takes the damn book away to reach for Erestor’s hands instead, they’re even colder than usual.

“You know what I see when I look at you? I see survival. You’re not a failed scribe, you’re the only member of your house who made it out of the burning ruins of our home alive. You helped them find the way when Ecthelion and me both lost our battles. And the Lord would have been lost for two Ages already without you. I’m not living in the past, Erestor. Him and me, we promised each other, we wouldn’t. I just never knew if you …”

  
But that’s where he doesn’t know how to continue anymore, and that’s where Glorfindel of Gondolin, reborn legend and demon slayer, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower _blushes_.

“If I wanted you back? Oh, Fin.” Erestor drops his head in an unnerved gesture on his lap, and Glorfindel’s cock gives a dutiful twitch in the tightness of his breeches. “They’ve returned you from the Halls with many a gift, but perception isn’t one of them.”

He shudders a little when Glorfindel buries his hand in his hair and pulls his head just a little closer to where he really wants to feel that skilled mouth right now, but they both stop just in time, because nothing is clear yet, nothing at all. And there’s still a party going on outside. People will talk if not at least one of them will turn up again soon.

“I suppose they’ll have a lot more to talk tomorrow.” Erestor shrugs, with half a grin, when Glorfindel mentions it, but the sound of cheerful music from up there, from extensive feasts and of half of the citizens engaging in mindless pleasure to leave the burden of another year behind, is too tempting to spend the night in a dusty library.

“Think you can keep your hands off your soldiers if we join them? Because you might find, I’m very much like your former husband in one regard. I can be awfully jealous in life.”

As an answer, Glorfindel pulls him close and kisses him deeply, hungry tongues meeting for a first, relieved time. Erestor gets up to stand between his spread legs, hands start wandering, and they nearly almost end up rutting right here on the table.

Until it’s suddenly the Lord standing in the door, murmuring something that sounds a lot like “Thank the Valar for small favors”, to come and get them both to fulfill their host duties.

It’s alright. After a few millennium, a few more hours of waiting are more than bearable.


End file.
